


The Indifferent Stars

by gyromitra



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: And a merry band of misfits, Angst, F/F, F/M, Fite me!, Fluff, Idiots in Love, It will get lighter after the starting chapters, M/M, Mass Effect AU, My subordinate is giving me attitude and I like it, Renegade!Gabriel, Slice of Life, Spacer!Jack, to 'I don’t fucking trust you for completely different reasons.’, to 'The only way we are in a relationship is by not acknowledging we are having a relationship.’, to 'What are we even doing?’ to 'This is a complete improvisation isn’t it?’, ‘Divorced friends thinking the other one is dead.’ to 'I don’t fucking trust you!’
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-09
Updated: 2018-05-09
Packaged: 2019-05-03 05:47:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14562195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gyromitra/pseuds/gyromitra
Summary: Dying, apparently, had been the easy part. Now, Commander Gabriel Reyes has to figure out how to bring down Talon – and maybe save the galaxy on the way, though that comes as a secondary goal on his List with a capital L. Somewhere along, he also has to come to terms with those pesky confusing things other people call ‘feelings’.(A completely unnecessary and self-indulgent Mass Effect AU with somewhat renegade settings and a slightly sarcastic summary with an addition of a pretentious quote (which is oddly on point on the whole extinction thing) – starring morally compromised and emotionally confused leads, not to mention the rowdy band of misfits that accompanies them. Incidentally, might focus more on the slice-of-life aspects of the whole fiasco than the Action™ itself, and be much more serious than the sarcastic summary lets on.)





	The Indifferent Stars

**Author's Note:**

> “Do not be deceived,” replied the machine. “I’ve begun, it’s true, with everything in ‘n’, but only out of familiarity. To create however is one thing, to destroy, another thing entirely. I can blot out the world for the simple reason that I’m able to do anything and everything - and everything means everything - in 'n’, and consequently Nothingness is child’s play for me. In less than a minute now you will cease to have existence, along with everything else, so tell me now, Klapaucius, and quickly, that I am really and truly everything I was programmed to be, before it is too late.” – **“The Cyberiad - Fables for the Cybernetic Age” by Stanisław Lem, as translated by Michael Kendel**
> 
> 1\. The story picks up at the start of ME2. Incidentally, the events of ME1 are taken into account. For Plot Reasons™ the events of Bring Down the Sky happen after the events of ME1, not during it.  
> 2\. The starting characterizations for ME1 are: Gabriel – Earthborn with a mix of Ruthless/War Hero background and Anti-Hero Archetype; Jack – Spacer with Sole Survivor background and Idealist Archetype. Again, those are starting points for ME1, and the story begins with ME2.  
> 3\. Non-native speaker, mostly self-taught. If you want to yell at me, please do. It might take some time for me to get back to you (anxiety), but I usually do, at least when updating the story in question.  
> 4\. The hits are off for mental health reason.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. The story picks up at the start of ME2. Incidentally, the events of ME1 are taken into account. For Plot Reasons™ the events of Bring Down the Sky happen after the events of ME1, not during it.  
> 2\. The starting characterizations for ME1 are: Gabriel – Earthborn with a mix of Ruthless/War Hero background and Anti-Hero Archetype; Jack – Spacer with Sole Survivor background and Idealist Archetype. Again, those are starting points for ME1, and the story begins with ME2.  
> 3\. Non-native speaker, mostly self-taught. If you want to yell at me, please do. It might take some time for me to get back to you (anxiety), but I usually do, at least when updating the story in question.  
> 4\. Hit counter is off for mental health concerns.

With the labored sound of his own breathing as his only companion, Gabriel Reyes contemplates the stars floating just outside of his reach – stars dulled by the glow of the nearby sun seeping over the edge of his visor. Not much else he can do at the moment, not with the most of the joints of his suit frozen in place due to the power failure resulting probably from the impact with a bigger piece of wreckage from the Overwatch. Which is probably for the better, considering each minute movement sends the distress pangs of sharp pain informing him of dislocated and broken bones. The familiar taste of iron oozes down his throat.

There is something to be said about the cold beauty of the stars, the fact that some of them are long dead and gone, and yet… And yet their image persists. How one could travel away from their chosen sun and keep its memory with themselves forever.

He briefly wonders who will receive his last transmission when he is same as they are, long dead and gone, cold with the unrelenting whispers of space creeping into his bones. He had never been one to lie to himself about the odds, and the odds are not unfavorable – they are impossible and foregone conclusions that slipped through his fingers the moment they were attacked.

To his right a part of the ship’s stern drifts slowly, the fires still burning where the breach containment fields held. Even if he could move there, it would be of no use with the life support slowly switching off in his suit.

Thank god Morrison wasn’t on the deck because he would have killed himself trying to get everyone to the safety – the thought is strangely random and fond, maybe a little bitter – brings out a strained chuckle and a twist of suffering from his ribs. Would it have changed anything if the person he had trusted to be his shadow for years were here? The answer is inconsequential, the ifs and buts mere exercises in futility, the memory…

Morrison walking into his quarters, stopping just past the door, posture rigid and official, hands held behind his back. Staring forward at a spot above his head.

“Commander.”

They are still playing this game, Gabriel thinks, over a week now, and Morrison is still stubbornly fuming like a baby. Should have long calmed by now. He is going to humor him.

“At ease,” Gabriel leans back in the chair, considers the subtle shift at his words. “What do you want, Morrison?”

“Commander, I’ve submitted a request for reassignment,” Morrison keeps his eyes steady on the wall. “I’d ask you to sign off on it.”

The anticipation – the cold suffocating feeling – unfurls in his stomach, races up his spine, covers his shoulders – a sensation he had come to associate with moments before anger and fight. Gabriel grits his teeth and Morrison still – still – refuses to look at him.

“What do you think to achieve by that?”

“I want us to part our ways with mutual respect, Commander,” Morrison breaks his composure for a brief moment, eyes drifting to Gabriel and then snapping back to that space in the air. ”In three days time, the ship will dock on Earth. I’d like to check in with Command then.”

The tense cold doesn’t leave, the expected anger does not come, instead, a slimy chilly thing curls around his back and reaches to his throat. Gabriel flicks fingers over the console.

“Approved.”

Morrison starts, then nods.

“Thank you, Commander.”

Three days, he will come around, but at the dock, he is distinctly reminded Ana, who would have talked Morrison down from his hissy fit, is no longer with them.

“Commander.”

There is it again, the anticipation, the cold prickling at his neck, and Morrison stands before him with a duffel bag slung over his shoulder. Gabriel waits for himself to get angry but in the end, he clasps Morrison’s arm briefly.

“Good luck out there, jackass. Don’t get killed.”

Morrison blinks rapidly, almost licks his lips – almost smiles but not truly – then bows his head slightly.

“You too, Gabriel. Thank you,” he lingers a second, weight shifting to the other leg, finally turns and walks away. Gabriel lifts back the pad.

“So we have to replace all of those rifles and check for…” McCree is looking at him quizzically with a furrowed brow. “Something the matter?”

“Nah, I suppose you got your reasons, I’ll get to those rifles then, boss,” the kid shrugs, “shouldn’t be a problem.”

Now, Gabriel wonders what would have happened if he had turned around. Had Morrison hesitated and faltered in his step, waiting to be stopped, or merely pressed on without a glance back?

The chill slowly sets in his flesh and with the indifferent stars and the void of the space inside his helmet, Gabriel finds letting go is easier than he ever thought it to be. He slips his eyes closed and floats away.

And apparently, considering the amount of pain he wakes up to, letting go is worth shit, and some more. Something simmers under his skin, hot and freezing simultaneously. The light is too sharp and darkness crowds the edges of his vision. A voice, calling, insistent, drifts in and out, too lost in the static buzzing in his ears.

Gabriel rolls to the side and tumbles down to the ground, disoriented. Something is very wrong in how his body does not want to listen to what he tells it to do. Hearing and sight slowly return to him. Explosions. Shots. Structural damage if the tremors that run through his arms he leverages himself on are not originating from the muscles he feels like he is using for the first time in days. Voice, female, steady but hurried, calling him through the broadcasting systems.

“Reyes. Give me a sign you hear me. Stand up.” Gabriel hoists himself up and defiantly stares at the probable source of the voice, the rude gesture is an afterthought but brings a modicum of satisfaction. The room decidedly does not resemble a proper medical facility, the equipment speaks more of a science laboratory – and vertigo threatens him with nausea. “Good. The base is under attack and you need to move fast.”

The question of the woman’s trustworthiness hangs in the air but the sounds confirm the situation. Gabriel turns towards the door trying to keep his balance – something is off, the way he feels how his body catches up to his intentions. The corridor is empty, the smell of spent ammunition and smoke wafts from the outside.

“The security is compromised and there is no other personnel surviving. We do not have the feed from the next room but other sensors indicate at least one person, you have to find a way to bypass them.”

He notices Talon emblem on the wall, and that brings up many issues in a split second, the most disconcerting being what exactly is he doing in a facility clearly belonging to Talon, and why the woman speaking to him sounds as if he should be here. Gabriel sets the questions aside, the same as he does with his evident survival of the assault on the Overwatch. He runs through possible scenarios as he approaches the door from the side, the rescue mission is a possibility considering the clear association of the base with Talon.

He has no suit and no weapon, which could prove troublesome, but overcoming one enemy while unarmed is not a hard feat, especially if he expects them to be inexperienced in comparison.

After the first shots are fired, Gabriel rushes forward taking in the details. No, no Alliance equipment, the assault rifle is of make not used by the military – ERCS. Not the rescue, at least not an official mission, and the man shoots continuously without pause. The simmer and static rise in volume until it suddenly stops and he stands over a body, twisted and bent, skin grey and gaunt, stretched strangely over the facial bones, eyelids pulled back. He does not recollect what took place except the sudden rush forward.

“Now this is amazing,” a new voice joins in, an accent Gabriel cannot place, “the vitals show unexpected abrupt system stabilization.”

“Doctor, we have no time…”

“This is my experiment, Lacroix, I remind you.”

Gabriel picks up the rifle and checks the ammo. The sensation of being lagged and strangely displaced recedes.

“And this experiment, doctor, will prove to be a worthless venture if Reyes fails to join us. Reyes, you need to go up the stairs and reach the dock. The shortest route will have compromised security bots and human enemies.”

An experiment, an interesting thought. Gabriel cracks his neck and slowly ascends the stairs. The occasional droids he finds on his way are easy to dispose of – no living targets, only bodies. The first woman gives him steady instructions and warnings, and from other information that slips through her guidance, he can glean the situation.

The Talon base he is traversing is, hilariously, under the attack by the members of the very same organization, the snake is eating its own tail. Lacroix’s allegiance also becomes clear. His own role in this whole mess is unexplained but at this precise moment he won’t look a gift horse in the mouth, not yet, not until he gets answers and blows this joint.

The door to the supposed dock hisses open and Gabriel is faced with the first sight of a human since the moment he woke up less than half hour ago. The woman stands pointing a pistol at a hunched down man with his hands in the air.

“Amelie, you don’t understand! What are you doin…” The woman fires a single shot and then holsters her gun turning towards him. Her visible skin gleams with an uncanny tint of bluish coloration.

“Finally, Reyes, you took your time, now put your weapon down because the only way you’re getting off this station is with us,” she nods at him, and Gabriel feels anger towards her – a Talon member – trying to issue him orders. “He was the leader of this little mutiny,” Lacroix misinterprets his posture.

“What’s stopping me from blowing out your brains?”

“For starters, there is only one functional shuttle, and the only person that has access codes is me,” she shows her back and starts to walk away. “Follow me.”

“Not a care about any other survivors?” Gabriel lowers the rifle and follows slightly behind her.

“You are no stranger to necessary sacrifices yourself. Everyone in this facility is expendable but you. Even me, but only after I deliver you to a meeting with my superior.”

“I don’t trust you.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less of you, Reyes,” Lacroix lets him enter the ship first and closes the hatch behind, fiddles for a moment with the keypad. The undocking begins the moment he sits in front of the other woman inside, a redhead, in a much more flamboyant attire than Lacroix’s bodysuit. Heterochromia, judging by the unusual pigmentation, unless the eye is artificial, with a metallic plaque around the socket.

“Attention to detail, good. Topical albinism,” the one Lacroix referred to as ‘doctor’ earlier gives explanation observing him with a scrutiny that makes his skin crawl. The simmer in his muscles is back. “The parameters still read off the charts, especially with the fact we had to jumpstart you before the planned date, but system stability holds. Tell me, Gabriel, what did you do then? Used medi-gel?”

“Doesn’t concern you,” she scoffs, rolling her eyes, and Lacroix seats herself next to her.

“On the contrary. Doctor O’Deorain is the head of the Reaper Project, and she is singlehandedly responsible for bringing you back to life,” Lacroix flicks open a datapad. “The whole venture took over twenty-nine months since the moment we had recovered your body and sunk more funds than the production cost of the Alliance fleet up to two years ago over the entire period of its existence. We had expected to exceed that significantly but the project had been cut short by seven months.”

Gabriel forces down the unease over the new information – if it’s even true – and puts the rifle on the seat to his right but keeps his hand on it.

“Please, Moira will suffice, and I’m amazed at the headway I had achieved, with the starting parameters he shouldn’t even be functional yet,” the doctor smirks. “Run the personality test.”

“I’m not something you can run tests on,” Gabriel snarls lunging forward, fingers clenching around her neck, digging into the jugulars, and momentarily he feels a cold twist in the back of his throat. His hand loses definition, the edges fuzzy, like smoke, but everything else in the backdrop keeps sharpness of its contours. “What have you done to…?”

Moira pins him with a glance.

“Sit down, Gabriel. It seems that the cohesion suffers in moments of agitation, dare I say, emotional agitation,” he releases her and falls back, staring at his fingers. “Interesting, it’s the same readings from a moment before the system’s stabilization. And to answer your question, I had introduced a swarm of my own design into your body to aid in the reconstruction and to jumpstart your organs. If you are worried about the grey goo scenario, I took the precautions. The swarm is keyed to your genetic blueprint and cannot interact in the same fashion with any other organic or inorganic matter. Amelie, the test.”

Gabriel still cannot tear away his gaze from his hand slowly returning to the solid shape.

“Of course, doctor. Now, Reyes, your career is a surprise with your background. An orphan without traceable kin, outside the system, enlisted military as soon as possible. Torfan, batarians?”

“I’m no stranger to necessary sacrifices, Lacroix, said that yourself. Done the job,” he growls, “some called me a criminal.”

“Which was a surprise considering that even earlier you were lauded for facing the impossible odds and leading your squad with minimal casualties on Elysium.”

“The strategic goal had been repelling the attack, not leading the offense.”

“I think you should try something more recent, we have to at least gauge if there are any significant reticency issues,” Moira fiddles with her omni-tool. “This is still ancient LTM.”

“Virmire,” Lacroix stares at him over the datapad. Virmire. One of the very close calls. The first friend he had lost. “Ana Amari, one associate that had been working with you the longest. Why have you left her behind to die?”

“It was her choice, and in the end, it gave us the time we needed to obliterate the facility,” and this dull pressure on his lungs is the loss, the longing for her presence and advice.

“You needn’t feel guilty, Reyes, it was the right choice, and, as confirmed by our intelligence, Ana Amari is alive. We hope you can both cooperate again.”

“Alive?” He spits, fast, attention suddenly focused on Lacroix.

“We have established, how to say, the communication channel. Now, about…”

“No,” Gabriel interrupts her, fast and harsh. If Talon had put that much of an interest in his life, it is time to make use of it. “You want me to do something, I pick people. I want McCree and Morrison.”

“This should prove entertaining,” Moira regards leisurely her painted nails. “Go on, Amelie.”

“McCree is proving hard to track down but with the bounty that was put on his head only in case of information that proves authentic as to his whereabouts, or his capture, I don’t expect him to stay hidden much longer. Morrison, on the other hand,” Lacroix puts back her datapad, “is listed as killed in action during a raid on one of our minor facilities on Pharese. Our investigation proved to be futile in uncovering any traces leading to a different conclusion.”

The chill stabs into his shoulders, bites into the back of his neck, clenches around his chest, runs along his spine. Gabriel stares at his fingers slipping again into blurred lines. Morrison had one job to do, always shit at listening to the orders, always something. The snarling fury finally comes and he latches onto it, fast, vicious, scorching white-hot sensation at his core.

He is defined.

Gabriel smiles. Over two years, closer to three. He still knows too little. If, and only if, anything he is being told is factually true, there is much more he needs to be aware of to bring down Talon.

“And what do you want me to do?”

Lacroix leans back.

“For now, Doomfist wants to discuss this with you. It is the only thing that is required of you, Commander Reyes, after that you are free to go wherever you please”

He can work with this.

*

_When the news hit, Jack remembers the strange detachment, the certainty it’s all some form of a ruse, or a mistake, but as hours turn into days, and those into weeks, he is overcome by sudden grief, and with hands at his mouth he finally lets himself cry, just like he had when Ana had been declared dead._

_It isn’t until he crawls from under the rubble and the bodies of his squadmates that something just breaks. He walks away and does not look back._

_Now, he steps off the shuttle, a worn out bag slung over his shoulder, and walks with a step of a man unsure of his destination even if he had familiarized himself with the layout of the station beforehand, at least with what was available to be found. The rest he can find out on his own, exploring, and laying down plans._

_Doesn’t take them long to mark him as prey, the predators gorging themselves on the weak and the vulnerable. It isn’t strange that humans are among their favorites, soft, without natural armors and external carapaces._

_“Please, I don’t want any trouble,” Jack mutters with his hands raised, empty palms to them, knowing that the display of supplication will only entice them. Five minutes later, he is the single living creature left in the corridor. Methodically, he checks the bodies, collects the money and other things that might prove useful later on. The twinge of guilt is painful, he shoves it back to be forgotten, after all, it was their choice, not his, he gave them a way out._

_He has a bigger game to hunt._

**Author's Note:**

> My own canonic playthrough, going into ME1 only knowing Bioware made it, it’s a space opera, and it has romance options.  
>  **Me at 5 minutes into the game: *Nihlus walks into the room*** I’m going to tap this.  
>  **Me at 15 minutes into the game: ….FUCK!**


End file.
